there was  a little meerkat  a lovely little soul
he live in the wild inside a little hole
he would roam around in the desert sand
then  on his two back legs the meerkat would stand
looking out for danger when  ever it was near
then warn all the others when the coast was clear
they would play all day underneath the sun
chasing one another having so much fun
they all lived together the way that it should be
these creatures of the wild with there lives so freel

the   view
                            stands beneath
the carousel efforts
to blast through
impregnancy aBLOOM!!!!
(w)ith feral legacies
aligned intimately ornately
     posthumous adulterer
awakens    in               need
       of
****** corrective agency
towards Fenitbow
           and Glightrovee  ab-surd as
qua as qua
asqua aqua qua
a^s is trite melody infer[no]
t a x i     yellowing  each pavement
by truth in yo ' fa ' ' lo ((lo))
    i by horns and turns
in plyable waves arrest
what justice      juices
      freel_y
                          oblig­atory
                                      antecedent
quai noyh thlume
                            ye
           HEaVY

Let the thunderstorm scream
It's just wants to be free
Let the black bird sing
It just wants to have a voice you can freel

Storm sirens sings
While the tornado screams

Rain pours down
To make the pain river peal

i never write "anything"...
i'm claustrophobic when its comes to
exploring cognizance...

'wow! what a fancy word!'

i hardly beg to differ...
i hear of people fathoming the novel...
and...
i'm a monolith monstrosity...
some bourbon, some german:

ich bin gut zu gehen: ja!

spucke bourbon au zu mein gesicht!

i will never write a novel,
i deal with butchering an animal
for: ein stück von fleisch...

"a novel" und barockarchitektur:
sounds similar?

oh but it's a freel available tattoo
in the anglophonic frame of ref....
Hastings, 1066...
hard to come by when the tattoo reads...
ahem...

Tannenberg, 1410...
Vienna, 1683...

clear-cut... almost safe-net catch-em
while you can...
the Hastings folk were pagans...
don't you know?
don't you know that only white
people can be racist?

pst... ask the russians "about that"...
see what you come back with...
i will have to...
S'****** at the reply...
no... honestly: "because" it's forbidden for
us former iron curtain "roma" folk...
**** dastardly's dog: muttley... S'*******...
giggles in...
we former folk from the eisenvorhang...
coming across the californian:
siliziumvorhang?!
where are we... polacks...
hunagarians... czechs... estonians...
lithuanians... ukranians...
yugolz... at?!
we don't fit the narrative... do we?

it's the 27th of december...
and i'm "thinking"... it's mighty fine...
to celebrate something with the aestigermani!

the children of ***** sought a father...
the children of gomorrah were akin...
i do not know whether i am
a father figure or whether:
there's that pointless safety question
to mind: did i wear a ******?
i was assured! i was assured there were
contraceptive pills involved!

i'm tired on the usual steaming-heap
pile of warm ******* and ****
to give a psychoanalyst his rhetoric
elevated status of disinhibition...

cocktail! madonna's papa don't preach...
dusty springfield: son of a preacher man...
and any other formidable calypso
study of salsa... should this sugar baby
this sugar baby be my baby
and if i would never become a sugar daddy...

and because i was only ever looking
for the six oops-stones of womanhood...
infinity: eh... bag 'em one weekend...
forget 'em the next...

god... let me this one type of racist...
Jefferson keeping "green things" akin
to Zoe Saldana in some variation
of a "basement"...
i'm good with green...
use enough cumin, coriander or
cinnamon powder in your cooking...
you'll ask: what's wrong with green?
i'd **** green! i'd **** green sitting down
i'd **** green of the sort sleeping!
i'd peacock myself in many variations
of drunk to stage:
that one sober sort of **** with her
and... it's no samantha 38g and...
classics come to mind...
homer, horace... and plump models
of: extra cushions!

ha ha... i make myself laugh:
i make myself laugh because:
there's about zeo chance of me...
conjuring up a novel ambition...
me and a novel...
a "supposed" schizoid and a novel...
ha ha! Noel! Noel!

there was a time where i grew a beard for a reason:
i.e. exercise less..
grow a beard, hide the pride of a walrus
minus the harem...
double chin and the...
Zoe Saldana in green skin...
octopus fucky-fucky or what?

- never mind -

grow a beard... hide the shar pei...
i figured over time...
my beard became a giza pyramid
focus of my eyes...
it took some persuasion...
namely 4 years and my grandmother
finally pointing out:
oh look how thick it is...
she wanted to play g.i. joe with...
prior to: my hair...
like some thor meets barbier universe
dolls extravaganza...
a hard-on waiting...
with an ava lauren limp twist...

"oops".

now the beard is all about...
being 34 years old... while donning
the *** leftover skivvy look
inflating the organic body for a media
frenzy to "compenstate" it to be aged:
49!
ha ha...
i keep forgetting why i'm in such a good mood!
today is today! and i'm...
and i'm not allowing myself to succumb
to an anglophonic seriousness
of staging an elvis costello seriousness
of: everyday writing the novel...

pst: sounds better than that obvious...
"nook 'n' cranny"...

my alternatives!
minnesang - neidhart:
meie din liechter schin!

weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt:
lassen uns singen!
lassen uns geben loben!
lassen uns männer verlassen
der mutterleib!

ensemble für frühe musik augsburg -
mayenzeit one neidt...

jetzt kommen der lieder:
zu gesungen! für alle das jahr!

i guess i grew a beard to hide a shar pei...
then again:
perhaps i grew a beard to pretend to
fiddle with a throng of violins?
perhaps i found growing my hair long...
i had to compensate!
i had to exfoliate in the downward
spiral and exchange...
oi! baldy! baldy!
i can juggle! i can juggle!
i can grow long hair and a beard!

but never the two at the same time!
germany and the nazis...
i just can't stiop thinking about
the lucky... those frivolous drunks
of the holy roman empire...
esp. when peering via their folk songs...
i call it: having to succumb to
english prune and pristine pressures...
even these days...
being wholy saxon is to be:
most unwholesome when it comes
to the german federation...

it's called cheating:
eatin saxon white soy
and not... riddling oneself
with Bavarian rye!

i'm drunk! it's the 27th of december!
the little ******* is born!
now i can celebrate!
chevalier, mult estes guariz!
on the 27th of december i can sing
german, and french crusader songs!

on the 27th of december i can celebrate!
nothing has to be left so innocent
and passive! so coddled!
and if they weren't singing byzantine
chants... prior to this day?!
let them sing no more!
i have found my happiness! once more!

Ö dies freude!
jetzt ich können: singen!
einst die kinder und engel...
ar legen zu bett!

if i am to be the integrated kind...
now i rejoice!
for i have all the reasons to rejoice!
i do no have to pander
to a babe!
i do not have to force myself
into elevated expectations with
a pre- litany of the omni- suitor...

now i can champion the romance
of the crusade...
i am... freed from the utopia...
that only one heart is allowed
to feel... and its feeling is to be contested...
solely by the sacrifice of a crucifixion...
not by iron maiden outlets "etc."...

now muttererde...
ihr liebhaber: wind - seine unterschrift!
weihnachten ist erledigt!
weihnachten ist erledigt!

it's the 27th of december and i can finally
celebrate with songs...
that... celebrate the sort of christianity
i am accustomed to...
french crusader songs...
german folk...
that i can stomach...
not this... pandering...
expecting the nuns to not...
somehow, not, become...
the ****** of the christ-harem!
a nun is a nun is a nun is a nun...
is a nun...
but i very much like...
being considered...
for... the better part of the feminine whim,
outside the realm of:
the usual rejection tactics of:
the aborted... i like my exercise of yielding:
DAS WORTE... ooh... chisel that
with a base goosebump strut to be worth
being added!

em... it's almost like that...
time-travel question of:
why not travel back in time...
and **** the baby adolf ******...
dunno... no point doing that with a jesus...
since... m'eh... his cross is our
genuflexion... yes: kind sir...
yes mr. greek and mrs. hebrew...
esp. in this script...
esp. when its alive and "we" debate...
the pronunciation of:

nil admirari prope res est una, Numici,
solaque, quae possit facere et servare beatum...
hunc solem et stellas et decedentia certis
tempora momentis sunt qui formidine nulla
inbuti spectent: quid censes munera terrae,
quid maris extremos arabas ditantis et indos
ludicra, quid plausus et amici dona quiritis,
quo spectanda modo, quo sensu credis et ore?

there's nothing to be surprised by, Numicious,
in this life's mainstay, peace of soul and happiness;
others, onto the sun, the stars, azure bodies...
on the round year of orbital changes, look with
a calm... and you would, upon the gifts of earth,
pearls of the sea, what of the distant Arabs,
Indians beyond the Arabs,
on the Kwiritow (googlewhack...)
Quiritus' honours, questionable plaudit: peer
raptured in awe without measure?

a very ******* bad a very ******* terrible
translation... as you do...
as you do... sinking into bourbon...
thinking about... maritza mendez...
sylvia loret... samantha 38G...
and all those lost plump classics of *****...

i would have sunk the Potemkin!
drunk... i wouldn't even require
a sober catch / scrutiny of "character"...
because now i am yet to translate
some latin, use this... ahem...
pseudo-cuneiform text:
"LATINE QUOD MORTUS EST"

perhaps that's mis-translated as:
qua: i.e. "as being"...
perhaps MIT... some runic...
or glagolitic... we AWAIT: the revival!
of the grand h'american protestant church
of apocalyptic wonder!
maybe, perhaps... "then"!

but it's the 27th of december...
the... "messiah" is born!
now we can reroute and go back to our...
current year... ***** and gomorrah type
of *******...
the cosmopolitan whoop-t'd'ah is 'ere!
come easter, come spring....
come the crucifixion! come the resurrection!

Crystal bones
breaks with a single touch
Thick muscle heart
Smile full of life
Or full of lies
It doesnt matter
Whatever you want
You will oblige
Your wish is her command
Everybody falls in love with the broken girl
Empty holes fills your needs
Not knowing who she is
Make her yours to be
Always looking for a home
Not knowing she is whole
Her weakness, your strength
That hole is your ******* doll
She tries hard to please
make everybody freel at ease
Mistaking it for love
she doesn't find her place
everything falls

somewhere between:
the mash and the fury... sycamore feeling...
shades of marble...
   & neverglade...
                
can you really... live... enough?
again: can you live... "too much" or
live "too little"?

i imagine myself living a life
of the highest expectations
in the full view of the public...
then i drift and recede among
the shadow-folk...

if on that blatantly glaring
carousel of ups-and-downs of fate...
bound to nothing more than
the gambling of gods...

perhaps i haven't lived some magical
quota of "enough":
to leave a statement akin to:
life is beautiful... even due to all
the suffering...

      perhaps i have attempted to live
the minimum of what might
be expected: if not asked of me to live...
perhaps i didn't want to...
congest my faculty of memory with
too many... repetitive: anti-introspections...
perhaps too much of the same
"thing" wouldn't allow me
for a cinema of... circa 10 very distinct
memories...

how "they" eroded our faculty of memory
when we were still children...
spelling... arithmetic...
random historical dates....
we weren't allowed to remember
something beside was kept in touch
with the narrative of the past 100 years
or so...

have i lived enough: or perhaps not enough?
perhaps i have forged
a memory bank of about 10 memories
that i keep like diamonds...
this sigma-sum of me:
how i might gladly give up these limbs...
to be a thought inside fire...
or water... to be restored to my original
dismemberment...
of how this body came together...

live "too much" and i suspect you won't
be able to remember... a third of it...
this "too much"...
live "too little" and i suspect:
your memories will be of no use...
reduced to the ash of...
2 + 2 = 4 / a b c: barnacle rigidity...
philosophy...

memory is such a fickle creature:
perhaps it would be less fickle if it wasn't
eroded at first by pedagogy...
would it be oh so embarass...
   embarasing... embarassing...
embarrassing... i was going to get
the correct spelling one way or another...
to forget spelling altogether and
make a barbaric return to pure
phonetics... perhaps even as far as
Japanese syllabry... syllabery...
   syllables... katakana: syllabry...
syllabary... syllabery... syllabary...
              
freel will: it's not a question of whether i have it
or don't: whether i'm labouring under
Greek fatalism of German Protestant docrtine
of predestination...
memory is a fickle creature:
i can't remember what i've like to remember:
to hell with all this memory recycling
and forgetfulness...
it's not even that i forget certain
events in my life by choice:
but who or what has staged authority
over me: to remember the "things" i do...
beside the vanity project:
in no way is this a source of becoming
something better: or for that matter: worse!
just... immobilised in this cosmic stasis!

obviously i can't remember everything:
but why do i remember certain things
more: that i remember the spelling of words...
well: that has been drilled into me
with all the scrutiny of ember, amber and cold
coal... of the times when my eyes disappeared
into being fully pupil:
the iris and sclera having lost track of:
there should be an iris and a sclera:
now there's only a blackness...

it must feel terrible to have lived a supposedly:
enough... so much...
to later have no memory of said life...
a fate most cruel: esp. prior to death...
notably governed by the noun dementia...
elevated within the confines of Alzheimer's...
it must be cruel so cruel: to have lived
such a full life... yet not once...
probably never... strained the mind
to remember something trivial...
i have about 10 trivialities...
i return to them because: one must...
sitting on the curb...
at night... drinking... a she fox sits opposite
me on a green lawn...
we have a staring contest...
a woman is walking by from a social
event...
she walks past the she-fox... the she fox
is staring right back at me...
she ignores the woman who is: a *******
meter away from her...

i'm the supposed *** having a staring contest
with a fox at night...
the fox doesn't budge when she's staring at me:
not one bit she allows the woman to walk past
all done... in the confines of a silence
that could only emanate from the deathly hallows...
of the gallows...

running with deer: i was the only stag
metaphor ready to easy the traffic
while this tender creature looked for
inspiration to gallop back into the woods...
it still looks funny in my mind...
holding a can of beer
slightly overweight... steering this little
harem of deer back into the woods...
so the road could be unblocked...

coming out a drinking session from
a park... climbing over a fence...
picking up a disgruntled teenage girl...
rolling her a cigarette...
giving up my phone so she could text like crazy...
she just attended a house party...
had an argument with her friend...
leech...  we talked... she ran back and forth...
we sat down and talked...
a black cat came up to me:
i picked it up and caressed it...
the girl went twice mad...
oh we did find her friend alright...
lying face down on the pavement...
i ran up gave her my hoodie: which dwarfed her
even more...
the mad girl texted her dad about our location...
walking to location i flicked the girl lying face-down
baseball cap: it'll be alright...
said suspect was allowed a selfie...
the girls were taxied home safely...
hmm... Sarah... Everard?

hello warlock me... even by any standard of truth:
you know how impossible it is to...
be emanating what might attract
a black cat approach you in the street at night
sitting akimbo with a clearly distraught
teenager girl: she just leeched onto
a stranger who was climbing over a fence
of a darkened park...
cats are most suspect... a good tendency
to have... tendency: there's a better word for that:
scrutiny... better than scrutiny...
stereotypically sieving through bull-*******...

of the 10... these are the 3...
i'm not going to disclose the other 7...
well... 4th... the widow Swan or widower swan...
Zeus came down and decided to eat
crisps from my lips
when i was still with Ilona as we spent
the sunset at Loch Lomond...

i'll not go into the 5th... it would require me being
a child again...
it's so far dated... that it involves
me... the Danzig Zoo... and a bear similar to
me in height: and him eating a button of my
cardigan...
a traumatic experience:
he ate my button! he ate my button!

again: fickle creature: this memory...
but i guess people too busied with life...
don't spare it much attention...
they hardly invest in memory...
to the point that they forget they're somehow
alive and have to subsequently... shockingly...
"remember" that they have to die...
but... that doesn't happen and so:
dementia seeps in...
there's no science behind this theory
only the words behind them...

memory is sacrosanct: however fickle the ***** believes
herself to be: however much eroded
by the structures of pedagogy...
i somehow filtered through and "remember"
the glory of the Mamluks vs. the Mongol Horde...
but i have my own memories:
i don't suppose that one's life is supposed
to flash before one's eyes when one is
instanced to death's fore...
if you didn't keep "certain" memories
sacred like you might keep: arithmnetic,
spelling... or the geometry of the triangle...
what is one to expect if:
there's a congregation of cognitive failures
culminating in dementia?

i'd want to remember something else beside
what i grieve as being the kept "consolations"...
i truly do...
but what i keep seems to give me
the required momentum...
of the many prostitutes i...
                           well...
          good to know that i'll go down
in history as: the hearty-second-best of...
Jack the Ripper...
but history is not a theatre of good-will people...
is it?
perhaps the man-child complex
of the ancient Greek philosophers...
"complex": ha ha!
in the current climate of
the woman-child...
             i'm not going to bother: grieve...
do anything more than the prescribed:
as follows...

it was so much fun having to romanticize
women in my teenager years...
my 20s are amiss...
i came back to the "narrative" in my mid-30s
and... well... if i'm not ******* the queen
of England while singing songs
akin to; WERE DIU WERLT ALLE MIN!

as much as any: kinder or kind-at-a-loss...
come tomorrow's 9am...
i suppose i should be grieving less...
kinder...
  and all the jokes and balloons...
and... candy-floss... such are the demands...
such the times... such the impossibilities:
and the justifications for having them
to begin with!